


Like a Princess

by Daerwyn



Series: A Collection of Drabbles by Helmaninquiel [70]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8311570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daerwyn/pseuds/Daerwyn
Summary: “Don’t force my hand, you won’t like what happens.”2015 Christmas Drabble Collection





	

The palm over your mouth tasted of dirt and horse, and strips of leather that had not yet been broken into. Yet it provided the buffer that it was intended to give. A barrier between your screams and calls for help, and the open air. They all died in your throat, muffled and exhausted, as you struggled to fight off your attacker.

Attackers. There were others, telling the one that was grabbing you what to do. The sound of your gown tearing filled the stables, and a horse whinnied not even nearby. All you had been doing was tending the horses, providing them with their buckets of fresh water. As you always did. When these riders came out of nowhere, grabbing you. You had not even been able to get a word out.

That had been mere seconds ago, or had it been a few minutes? You could not remember. You just knew that you would have a wild handful of bruises. And no ability to show your face for days, perhaps weeks to come. You could already feel the shame welling up in you for the fact that you could not fight off the man that was attempting to take something he was not meant to have.

You clamped your teeth down on the hand, knowing that if you did not try your best to escape, you would only blame yourself for being so careless. Nevermind that if you managed to escape this man, the others would be short behind him. He gave a shout, pulling his hand away sharply, and you let out the shrillest scream you could muster. Your tears blinded you, so you could not see the man properly, but the scream seemed to do the trick.

“Quiet, girl, before I make sure you can’t scream-”

And almost suddenly he was once more on you, tugging your skirts out of the way, pulling your arms firmly at your side and resting a knee atop your palms as he fumbled with his trousers. Your throat closed in terror, and you tried to squirm from under his weight, but he put an end to that with a slap, causing you to cry out in pain.

“What is the meaning of this?” The voice was so sharp, so sudden, that the man atop you jumped. And it gave you just enough space to slip your hands from under his knees, and draw yourself away, hurriedly tugging at your gown to better cover yourself. Not more. There could not be more men coming.

“My Prince.” Your eyes darted up, and you hastily wiped away your tears to see that Prince Eomer was standing before the small gathering, a murderous expression on his face. The man that had been attempting to assault you shifted, fastening his belt as discreetly as possible. “It was nothing to worry yourself over-”

Prince Eomer glanced between his fellow Rohirrim riders, and then met your gaze, letting out a patient breath, before striding towards you. You were as far into the corner of the empty horse stall as you could get, and there was straw stuck in your hair. You held your breath as he approached, unsure what he was going to do. Surely a prince wouldn’t continue their behavior. Afterall, he was a kind man, always giving you a polite dip of his head when he spotted you in the stables caring for his horse.

But he knelt before you, in the messy stall, getting his royal robes all dirty, and offered a hand. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Not physically, though the words didn’t escape you. Your cheek stung from the slap, and your arms were sore from where the man had grabbed you, but there were no irreparable injuries. Shaking your head, he relaxed slightly. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you said quietly. He knew your name, or at least had been told it before. It did not surprise you that he had forgotten.

“You’re the daughter of the wine master,” Eomer said suddenly. You allowed him a tiny smile, and his own smile at having remembered a miniscule detail about you turned to a sober grimace. “Come, I will take you to the castle and have my healer tend to your injuries.” You blinked rapidly in surprise.

“That’s too much-”

“I insist.” You swallowed back a protest, and gave a slow nod. He patiently waited for you to take his hand, before he rose, pulling you up with him. He caught sight of how you were clutching your gown closed, and how if you lost your grip, you would be showing more skin than any woman dared show to anyone but her husband. The Prince’s cheeks flushed red at the sight, and he tugged at the cloak that hung from his shoulders, and spread it over your shoulders almost immediately.

“This will keep you from getting cold.” Eomer’s eyes darted to the men, smart enough at least to know that they were not to run away from their Prince. “You will all report to my father, and tell him what it is you have done. And if I learn you have spoken anything but the truth, you will be hung for treason. Don’t force my hand, you won’t like what happens.” Hung? Rohirrim riders’ lives were being placed beneath your own? Your eyes lifted from the ground in surprise to see that the riders looked equally as shocked by the idea.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Go.” Eomer said shortly. He kept one arm securely holding the cloak in front of you, and another hand reached behind you, gently resting at your back - as if he was unsure if that would be acceptable to you. “I know a way into the palace where you will be unseen.”

For that you were grateful. You did not want word to reach your father about this. You would tell your mother once you knew what would become of the riders.

“You should not have been so harsh on them. They will only come back when they know you are not around,” you said quietly. “They know I am here most hours of the day.”

“I will see to it that they do not come back,” Eomer informed you simply, pausing at the door of the stables and glancing out quickly. It was nightfall, and there was not much activity, but still prying eyes watched. You waited until he deemed it safe enough, and guided you along the side of the stables, and towards a door. A servant door. He tugged it open, letting you through inside first, before he shut it behind him, and gestured up the stairs. “They are steep, you must be careful on them.”

“Why are you bringing me here?”

“You’re bleeding,” Eomer said quietly. You paused on the steps, glancing to him. His eyes flickered to your cheek. “Your cheek is bleeding. My healer will do her best to make sure it does not scar.”

“I do not care if I am scarred… I do not understand why you are doing this? I work in the stables, fetching water, cleaning up the droppings… You’re a prince, my lord.”

“Am I? I had not noticed.” You chewed on your lip in frustration, as he was obviously teasing you. “I am doing this because what they did should never have happened.” You swallowed at the conviction in his tone. The truth with which he spoke. “They have broken the vows of the Rohirrim, to do no harm save for enemies in battle. And they have tried to do this.” He glanced down at the cloak, to further punctuate the sentence. “Are you sure they did not hurt you?”

“No… You… You stopped him before-” You were not sure what words were meant to come out, but the ones that did, even miniscule, seemed right. He gave a small nod. “Thank you, Prince Eomer.”

“I am doing this because it is my duty as Captain of the Rohirrim to ensure that the vows are kept. And to make sure that justice is served, swiftly, to those that break those vows. I want to do all that I can to protect my people, even from my own brothers.” Eomer dropped his game. “I will see to a seamstress to find you clothing, as well.”

“Your generosity is more than I can accept-”

“I insist,” Prince Eomer said simply. You took a deep breath, holding back your protest, and nodded. And he led you up the rest of the stairs, to a small room with only a handful of healers and a sparse number of beds to attend to those wounded that return from battle.

Even if for a few moments, you felt like a princess. Even if only for a few hours, you were safe, you knew that eventually the men would return - or do worse, spread rumors through the village that you had lay with one of them, maybe even more.


End file.
